


I'm Not Being Fresh With You

by somnivagrantTraviatus



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfresh, Body Horror, Gen, I should probably tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7441906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnivagrantTraviatus/pseuds/somnivagrantTraviatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sans isn't acting like himself.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Come to think of it, neither is anyone else.</i>
</p><p>Papyrus is the only survivor of an invasion of radical proportions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Underfresh belongs to loverofpiggies. This fic's angst is all mine, though. :3c

Today, Papyrus decided, was going to be a good day. The spaghetti in the waffle iron was crisping up nicely, the artificial sunlight was glittering magnificently off the snow, and, judging by the rustling noises upstairs, Sans was already up and awake, ready to greet the day with the enthusiasm it surely deserved. Perhaps he might even be awake enough to have breakfast together! It had been ages since Sans had been up early enough for breakfast, as opposed to dragging himself out of bed five minutes before his shift and leaving for his stand with a piece of toast in his mouth, and the possibility of sharing a meal had Papyrus humming as he slid the spaghetti waffles onto two plates.

Footsteps sounded as Sans made his way down the stairs, but Papyrus didn't look up, too busy grabbing utensils and the ketchup. “GOOD MORNING, BROTHER!” he cheerfully greeted the other. “IT IS UNUSUAL TO SEE YOU UP AND ABOUT SO EARLY. DID YOUR HOURS LAYING MOTIONLESS IN A DARK ROOM GO WELL?”

“Yeah, I'd all up and say so.” There was a brief pause as Sans stretched. “Actually, if you were wiggedy-wondering, I'd say they were radical.”

Capital letters? Was Sans feeling alright?

Papyrus turned around and was immediately met with an explosion of color. Far from his usual muted color scheme, Sans seemed to have put in special effort to represent every color of the rainbow at once in his outfit today. And that was worrying, because since when did Sans put special effort into anything? Burying his concern with the ease of practice, Papyrus gave his brother a cheerfully confused smile. “YOU’VE PUT ON NICE CLOTHES,” he observed. “DID YOU SCHEDULE A DATE WITHOUT TELLING ME?”

“What? Nah, bro, I'm not all up and about that life.” Sans’s brow ridges narrowed over his sunglasses (and since when did they even own sunglasses? There was no sun!). “Yo… You're not lookin’ so fresh there, broseph. What's the sitch?”

Papyrus gave himself a quick once-over. Same outfit as usual — just his battle body and a smile. A quick sniff under his armpit was no more illuminating, since he had neither sweat glands nor a nose. And unlike his brother, he knew, there were no dark circles under his eye sockets (and had the ones under Sans’s glasses gotten darker?). Taking an educated guess what the strange words coming out of Sans’s mouth meant, he replied, “NOTHING’S THE MATTER? I’M PERFECTLY FINE??”

“Huh. If you're sure, brah.” Sans did not look convinced in the slightest, but thankfully dropped the matter. He hopped into a chair — not the one he customarily sat in, but Papyrus’s — and eyed the plate in front of him, picking up his fork with undisguised glee. “Thanks for the briggedy-braggedy-breakfast, yo!”

And with that, he dug in. Papyrus watched in unbridled horror as his brother stabbed the spaghetti waffles through the middle with his fork, picking them up like a giant kebab. How discourteous!

Then Sans’s mouth unhinged, and a writhing mass of rainbow tonguelets swarmed over the waffles. When the food was completely covered, the tongues retracted, pulling both the waffles and the fork into his gaping maw.

His teeth snapped closed with a click, and he got up, ambling out of the kitchen with a wave and a burp. “Cya l8r, alli-bro-gator.”

Papyrus just stared, too horrified to reprimand Sans for his giant belch.

He hadn't even touched the ketchup.


	2. Chapter 2

It was becoming increasingly obvious that today was not, in fact, a good day.

Unsettled by Sans’s strange behavior, Papyrus had been looking forward to his training with Undyne all day. But when the time finally came to knock on her door, he was greeted, not with an affectionate noogie or suplex, but with a fist, simply hovering there in the air.

He'd stared at it blankly, until Undyne had grabbed his wrist and forcibly tapped their fists together. Only then was he let into the house.

“SO, AH, UNDYNE,” he began. There was no response. “UNDYNE?”

“Huh?” She looked up, then down again, fiddling with the buttons on some egg-shaped thing. “Sorry, brah, my Walkman’s in. What were you saying, dawg?”

“OH, NO! NOT YOU, TOO!” Papyrus clutched his skull in despair. “SANS HAS BEEN ACTING STRANGELY ALL DAY! HE LEFT FOR WORK ON TIME WITHOUT EVEN A REMINDER FROM YOURS TRULY, AND WHEN I WENT TO CHECK ON HIM BEFORE LUNCH, HE WAS STILL AT HIS POST. AND HE WAS TALKING TO SOME SORT OF BIRD THING?? BUT I COULDN’T UNDERSTAND A WORD HE WAS SAYING.”

“Sounds rough,” Undyne said, continuing to press buttons.

“I KNOW! AND NOW, YOU’RE DOING THE SAME THING!” He paused. “WELL, NOT RIGHT NOW. THAT SENTENCE SOUNDED NORMAL. BUT WHAT IS THAT EGGY-LOOKING THING? IS IT A GIFT FROM DR. ALPHYS??”

“Nah, dude, it’s a Tamagotchi.”

“A WHAT.”

“Tamagotchi. Orig vee three, seventh gen.” She twirled it proudly by its key ring. “I've been takin’ care of this little buddy forever.” As if confessing a secret, she grinned (with far too little teeth) and leaned in, whispering behind her hand. “It’d be further along, but if they get up in my grill, I let ‘em starve.”

Papyrus gasped, bringing his fists to his cheekbones. “UNDYNE!”

“How many has it been now?” she wondered. “Seven?... Thousand?”

“UNDYNE!” He was tearing up, now, moved by the plight of the pixelated creatures. “YOU CAN’T JUST STARVE YOUR TAMA GOAT CHEESE WHEN THEY BEGIN TO ANNOY YOU!” A thought occurred to him, and he paused, feeling unsettled. “AND, IF YOU’VE BEEN ‘TAKING CARE OF IT FOREVER’, HOW COME I HAVE NEVER SO MUCH AS SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT?”

Undyne looked up from her screen for the first time since Papyrus had walked in. It was impossible to read her eyes through the printed sunglasses she was wearing (seriously, what was up with the sunglasses today?), but Papyrus got the distinct impression that she was wearing the same face she did when he messed up something big and obvious in one of their lessons. “Dude. Is everything sitch norm over there? Cuz you're not lookin’ so fresh.”

“UGH, SANS ASKED ME THE EXACT SAME QUESTION EARLIER! I’M PERFECTLY FINE!”

Slowly, Undyne stood. Despite the inherent difficulties of looming over someone taller, the sudden aura of barely-concealed malevolence around the guard captain made her intention perfectly clear. Papyrus found himself cowering back, affected by the tautness in the air. But this was Undyne! She’d never hurt him!

~~Right?~~

“If you're ‘fine’,” she said, advancing slowly, “then why are you still rocking your host’s threads?”

“W-WHAT?”

Suddenly, she was right in front of him, staring him down.

No, wait. That wasn't right. Her gaze was locked firmly on his right eye socket.

“If the body’s giving you trouble, homeslice, just drop one of us a line, yeah? We’ll help ya take care of it.” She pulled down her glasses, winking.

Was that… a SOUL? In her ruined eye?

As Papyrus attempted to recoil, she laughed and gave him a (too-gentle) pat on the back. “PSYCHE! I know you can handle it, homie. I mean, obvs. You’d be dead already if you couldn't, L-O-L!”

He forced a laugh, feeling nauseous despite his lack of stomach. “R-RIGHT,” he stuttered, edging towards the doorway. “WELL, AH, NOW THAT YOU MENTION IT, I AM FEELING SLIGHTLY WARM. HOLD ON, IS THAT A SNEEZE?” Trying to remember what sneezing looked like, he said, “AH-CHOO!” and smacked his nasal ridge into the inside of his elbow. “OH GOODNESS DEARIE ME, IT IS! I HAD BETTER GO HOME RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY. TO TAKE CARE OF IT. THE SNEEZE, I MEAN. GOODBYEUNDYNEITWASNICETOSEEYOUI’MSORRYICOULDN’TSTAYLONGER!”

And then he ran.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus arrives a decade late with Starbucks.

Everywhere Papyrus looked, there was another monster in rainbow clothing and dark glasses. Everything was quiet, and even the rowdy teenagers were amusing themselves with Skip-Its and hula hoops instead of making mischief. As one, they turned to stare at him as he speed-walked by. Papyrus shivered. It was eerie how blank their expressions were behind the tinted shades.

When he finally made it back to the safety of his home, he had to take a moment just to breathe against the door. Distantly, he noticed that his legs were trembling slightly. That wouldn’t do! There was nothing to be afraid of. 

At least, not here. 

Not until Sans came home.

Oh, stars, but it wasn’t Sans, was it? The way Undyne (not-Undyne) had talked, not to _him_ , but to _whatever was in his eye_ … 

Papyrus shivered, trying to ignore what felt like skittering inside his skull. When he got to his room, he shut the door behind him, pointedly avoiding any mirrors. He felt just fine. Clearly, that meant there was nothing inside his head.

But the same probably couldn’t be said for Sans. Or Undyne. Or (gulp) anyone else. One person trying out a new style was one thing, and even two could just be a weird coincidence, but a whole town? It felt too much like something out of one of those cartoons Undyne liked to watch so much.

But! Obviously! That meant it was Papyrus’s job - no, his _duty_! - to defeat whatever evil menace had taken over Snowdin. And to do that, he’d have to, ugh, blend in.

One closet crawl later, Papyrus emerged, wearing yellow jeans, a gray cardigan over a blue shirt, and, of course, a red scarf. The scarf was a little different than the one he normally wore, being a large circle of fabric as opposed to an ascot-styled capelet, but he felt drawn to it, for some reason. When he put it on, it felt like something slid into place. Excellent! He could work with that.

Now… the shades. They were clearly a very important indicator of status. Anyone who wasn’t wearing a pair would be easily spotted, and, while that was normally an incentive for Papyrus, it wouldn’t do to be discovered before he could proceed with his CUNNING PLAN to RESCUE THE INNOCENT PEOPLE OF SNOWDIN! But the idea of wearing glasses, even sunglasses, just didn't sit right with him. He'd discarded his reading glasses long ago, after noticing how uncomfortable they made Sans when he wore them, and having new frames over his nasal ridge seemed tantamount to saying that he didn't care about Sans’s problems any more. Not happening. So, what could he wear instead?

A thought occurred to him, and he snapped his fingers in pleased surprise. Didn't he still have that joke gift from Undyne? The plastic shades that weren't shades? Yes, here they were. He put them on, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he remembered all the jokes Sans had made about “pulling down the shades.” (He'd shuddered at them then, of course — or, wait, shuttered? Because they were called shutter shades, right? He'd have to remember that one, for when Sans was better.) All the little ridges made them useless as sunglasses, but they certainly would cover enough of his eyes that, hopefully, no one would notice his uncorrupted state.

The color of his text would be a dead giveaway, of course, but he had no idea how to turn his dialogue rainbow-colored. He'd been safe so far, right? Knowing Sans, he'd keep on being too lazy to look, even when possessed by some kind of… thing, and it wasn't like anyone else would be able to tell. Yes. It would be fine.

Feeling safer behind the glasses, Papyrus inspected himself in the mirror for the first time since that morning. Nyeh heh heh, looking good! Yes, he could definitely work with this, at least until he rescued everyone and could go back to wearing his battle body. He tossed himself an invisible wink from behind the shades and struck a confident pose. “I,” he declared, “AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! AND I! AM GOING TO SAVE THE PEOPLE OF SNOWDIN, AND GET EVERYONE BACK TO NORMAL! NYEH HEH HEH!”

The only thing he needed now was some kind of plan.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, miscounted the chapters I'll need. We'll be wrapping things up next time.
> 
> In the meantime, CORE!Frisk (and the Omega Timeline?) belong(s) to dokudoki.

Nothing worked.

No matter what he tried, nothing worked.

Stars, why did _he_ have to be the only one left? He wasn't smart like Alphys, or strong like Undyne, or knowledgeable like Mettaton, or wise like King Asgore. It shouldn't have been _him_ that made it; it should have been one of _them_. 

(Or Sans, who was all of those things and more, even if he hated showing it. _God_ , Papyrus wished Sans were here. He'd know what to do.)

(Everything was just so much. So much pressure, so much stress. He could be found out at any time, and every minute he spent failing was another minute everyone wasn't themselves. It had gotten so bad, Papyrus had taken that old hoodie Sans always wore, the one he hadn't touched since before the day everything went wrong, and stored it in his inventory. Sometimes, he'd put it on and pretend it was his brother hugging him; telling him that everything would be alright, that he believed in him. Things felt easier for a while after he put it on.

And with the hoodie in Papyrus’s inventory, he'd always have it on hand. After all, when Sans was back to normal, he'd want it back right away. It was better to have it within easy reach. Just in case.)

But it wasn’t any of them that had escaped this. It was him. And if there was one thing the Great Papyrus was not going to do, it was give up on his friends. Even if it was hard! Even if it looked hopeless! Even if it took a thousand years! He! Was! Not! Going! To! Give! Up!

So when help finally arrived, only to tell him it was pointless, he did not exactly take it well.

The new arrival was a human, kind of, gray like the world had forgotten to color them in and swinging their legs on Papyrus’s bed. They jumped to their feet as soon as he pushed open the door and immediately began to speak.

“I’m _so sorry_ ,” they began, in a quiet monotone that nonetheless carried the weight of their sincerity. Their voice sounded staticky, almost, like Papyrus was hearing it from more than one direction at once. Hands fidgeting by their sides, they said, “I should have come sooner. I would have, I promise, but I didn't know there was a survivor.”

Taken aback, Papyrus blinked wordlessly at them. It had been so long since he had spoken to anyone who didn't pepper their speech with dated turns of phrase that he was actually having a hard time understanding his visitor at first. He took the time it was taking to process their words to close the door behind him, then said, “I’M NOT SURE I UNDERSTAND. WHY WOULD ANY OF THIS BE YOUR FAULT?”

His visitor dropped their head. “Oh. That’s right; you wouldn't, would you? I’m sorry, I should explain. My name is Frisk.”

The name sounded familiar, but Papyrus couldn't quite place why. It suited them, though.

“I’m not from your universe,” they continued. “If you want to be technical about it, I'm not from any universe at all, anymore.”

“THAT MUST BE SAD. TO NOT HAVE A PLACE TO CALL HOME.”

Frisk was silent for a moment. “I suppose. But there's a little piece of me in every universe, so, taken a different way, I suppose one could also say I belong to every universe at once.”

“I LIKE THAT ONE MUCH BETTER.”

Their lips quirked in a small smile. “I'm not surprised. But, either way. My unique position affords me a few benefits, like being able to see anything that happens, in any universe, at any time. I saw the invasion, Papyrus, and wrote your timeline off as a loss. I abandoned your whole world on the evidence of a glance.”

“OH.” Thankful for his shades, Papyrus sat down next to them on the bed and patted the sheets until they sat back down, too. “BUT YOU CAME BACK, RIGHT? TO HELP. SO IT’S ALRIGHT.”

Frisk crossed their ankles, staring down at their feet. “You’re too kind, Papyrus. Especially since you haven’t heard why I’ve come yet.”

“WHY… DID YOU COME, THEN?”

“Even if I did judge this timeline too early, my reasoning was sound. I was only missing some of the necessary information.” They looked up at him, eyes soft and sad despite the monotone of their voice. “This is no place for survivors. The whole universe needs to go into quarantine, before Fresh can spread even further across the multiverse. I’ve come to take you to your new home, where Fresh can’t find you.”

Papyrus was silent, and Frisk continued. “I call it the Omega Timeline. It’s a place for survivors of all kinds, from all the destroyed or quarantined universes. You’ll have lots of friends there. I’m sure they’ll welcome you with open arms.”

Softly, Papyrus said, “YOU WANT ME TO ABANDON MY QUEST. MY WORLD, MY FRIENDS. MY BROTHER.”

“They’re not your friends anymore, Papyrus. And you’ll be able to see your brother in the Omega Timeline. He… ends up there a lot. There aren’t as many Undynes, but that just means they’ll be even happier to see you.”

“NO. YOU- YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND.” He rubbed a thumb over the side of his glove, staring at the white fabric and wishing it was still red. “EVEN IF THERE ARE OTHER VERSIONS OF MY FRIENDS THERE, THEY WON’T BE THE SAME. I WON’T BE THE PAPYRUS THEY REMEMBER, EITHER. I DON’T WANT TO TRY TO BE. AND IF GOING REQUIRES ME TO ABANDON EVERYONE I KNOW HERE…” He stood up with a smile. “THANK YOU FOR THINKING OF ME. IT WAS VERY NICE OF YOU TO OFFER, BUT I’M AFRAID I CAN’T ACCEPT!”

They grabbed his wrist. “Papyrus… You wouldn’t be abandoning anyone. I know it’s hard for you to give up hope, but there’s nothing you can do. They’re Fresh now. All you can do is try to save yourself.”

“I CANNOT DO THAT,” he repeated, locking eyes with them. The effect was somewhat ruined by the shades, but his intention carried nonetheless. Sighing, they let go of his wrist.

“I understand. See you later, Papyrus.”

Something long and hard thunked into the back of his head. The skeleton swayed on his feet, then collapsed, chin rushing to meet the flame-bordered carpet.

As he blacked out, he heard a voice, as if from far away. It said, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”


	5. Chapter 5

He woke up tucked into a smaller-than-queen-size bed, with a note in the shape of a tent on his chest. The dark, firm words on the gray paper were no surprise - a welcome to the Omega Timeline, and another apology. “I hope you’ll come to like it here!” it said. “If you want to change out of your disguise, feel free to pick out anything from the closet. You don’t have to live in fear anymore. You’re safe now.” And, underneath that: “You can’t go back. I’m sorry.”

His fist tightened, wrinkling the paper, but he smoothed out the lines with a heavy sigh. So. That was it, then. He’d never see them again.

 _If you can’t go back, you’ve gotta go forward_ , something inside him said, and, with effort, he smiled. His friends were lost to him, yes, but the memories were still there. And he’d have new friends to meet. He wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.

Something wet rolled down his cheek, and he realized he was crying. No wonder it was so hard to convince Sans to give up on giving up. Giving up was turning out to be wonderful for relieving stress!

Just one more way his brother knew best, Papyrus supposed.

When he had no more tears to fall, Papyrus rubbed a wrist over his face and threw open the doors to the closet, half expecting to be blinded by a flare of light from inside. It was certainly big enough to warrant the dramatic effect. Mettaton would have weeped at the dazzling array of clothes inside, but Papyrus just stood there, feeling lost. Out of all the garments, none of them even resembled the battle body Sans had made for him. 

That was alright. He wasn’t sure he’d have wanted to wear that old thing again, anyway. He wasn’t the Papyrus it had been made for anymore. The invasion had seen to that.

But there were so many choices… How could he ever pick?

Maybe he should try giving up on that, too. Stick with Sans’s way of life - Wait, that was it! 

Papyrus accessed his inventory. Sans’s hoodie dropped into his arms, and he gathered up the material, bundling it to his chest. It smelled like ketchup and grease, snow and bones.

It was perfect.

He took off the cardigan and slipped into the hoodie instead. A little short, maybe, on the torso and the sleeves, but if he wore something over it, no one would ever know.

After that, it was fairly easy to pick out the rest of the outfit. A dark blazer went on over the hoodie, and he traded out the yellow jeans for a different pair in a more traditional blue. He liked the way the denim flared around his ankles. The scarf and gloves stayed, and, after some deliberation, so did the shades. After so long of them being the only thing between him and… something, Papyrus felt nearly naked without them, even if they did look a little silly.

He spent a while just staring at himself in the mirror and straightening his cuffs. Finally, though, he had to admit that he was stalling. Usually, this would be where he made one last confident pose, but he wasn’t quite feeling up to that right now. 

_Welp. Showtime, then._

He threw open the door and strode out without a second glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this may or may not receive an epilogue/sequel/some kind of continuation. *resigned sigh* There were a couple more places I wanted to go with this that I never quite made it to, and I'm not sure how satisfied I am with this ending.
> 
> In the meantime, if you're curious or wondering about anything, feel free to ask! If there's anything I love, it's going on long-winded explanatory tangents about my ideas. :3 I'd love to answer any questions you have, here or on my tumblr (twixtandshout.tumblr.com).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue finally arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I caved. Here's the last last chapter.

When CORE!Frisk announced the arrival of a new, permanent resident of the Omega Timeline, Sans was unimpressed. It was probably just another Sans — sole survivor of his timeline, desperately missing his brother, trying to keep that same transparent smile on his face when it was obvious he was only a breath away from falling down — and he got it, of course he did, and even felt sorry for the poor guy to boot, but it was kinda hard to take those issues seriously when practically everyone else had the exact same problems. It was just another reminder of how pathetic he was, one more downtick in the percentage chance of any version of him achieving any form of happiness. And sure, it was nice talking to someone who understood his issues, and the scientist in him thrilled at getting an up-close-and-personal look at all the hims he could’ve been, but the sheer cringe factor of watching the new guy angst and brood in a corner like he was the only one to ever have his brother die totally outweighed any of the benefits brought by one more Sans in an ever-growing pile of Sanses.

So when CORE!Frisk confirmed that the new resident was not going to be a Sans, Sans couldn't help but mirror the excitement of the rest of the Sanses. He'd settle for anyone but himself at this point, but maybe — just maybe — well, it was _possible_ , wasn't it? That the new arrival would be Papyrus?

( _a papyrus_ , he corrected himself immediately, squashing down the seed of hope before it could take root. _your brother’s dead, stupid. dead and gone and never existed in the first place._)

Well. Thinking logically, the new arrival was probably a Swappyrus, given that versions of him seemed to be the second-most common arrivals. There were nowhere near as many of him as there were of Sans, though, and Sans was sure they wouldn't mind having another version of themself to commiserate with about the unique experiences of living in a Swapverse. It'd be good for them. Probably.

That seemed to be what most of the other Sanses had decided, too. A few outliers here or there thought maybe it would be some kind of Frisk, and one Swappyrus thought that the new arrival might be a Chara of some sort (there had been a boom in the Storyshift population, so that was a fair assumption, and if a Frisk was possible, Sans guessed it was only fair to give a Swap!Chara the benefit of the doubt), but almost everyone agreed that another Swappyrus was most likely.

Sans didn't bother to voice any assumptions about what the newcomer would be like. It was obvious that all of them were hoping the new guy would come from a timeline like their own.

Much as Sans tried to squash down any hope, his anticipation continued to grow as the hours ticked past. By the rising murmur of the crowd, the other Sanses were just as unsuccessful. Finally, after a brief eternity (or an infinite millisecond), the door swung open.

The newcomer was a Papyrus. A Classic!Papyrus, even, in a hoodie that looked awfully familiar. Sans’s hand drifted to the collar of his own hoodie, and the red scarf just behind it, and he watched the Papyrus take everything in with wide eyes. 

The scarf was wrong. And the outfit was strange, even for a Papyrus. But the proportions - the mannerisms -

Guilt crashed through Sans’s burgeoning hope like a sledgehammer. If Papyrus was here — if Papyrus had been the only survivor of a timeline destroyed beyond repair — then _Sans hadn't done his job._

His grin turned bitter faster than an ice cube melts in a geyser. He'd failed again, it seemed. He'd have to run that over to the Gaster keeping track of odds. 

A small sound from in front of him pulled Sans out of his head. Was that a whine?

The new Papyrus was ramrod straight, phalanges fidgeting in tight fists at his sides. His cheekbones were blushed gold with gathered magic, and when he spoke, it came out half-choked with tears.

“S-SANS?”

It didn't matter that Sans wasn't _his_ Sans, or that _he_ wasn't _Sans’s Papyrus_ , or even that he was somehow speaking in chrome. What mattered was that he was _Papyrus_ , and he was _upset_. Without a single conscious thought, Sans closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Papyrus’s ribcage and tucking his head under Papyrus’s arm.

“it’s okay, it’s okay, you're here, you're safe,” Sans promised, words tumbling over themselves in a cascading mantra of reassurance. Others joined in, piling closer until Papyrus was practically buried in hoodie-wearing skeletons.

“you’re fine, you’re okay.”

“we’ll keep you safe.”

“you're safe here.”

“we’re here for you.”

“i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry.”

“it’ll be okay. you’re here now.”

Something wet splashed against Sans’s skull. Papyrus was crying, streams of copper rushing over his cheeks, and Sans reached up to wipe them away from under the ridiculous sunglasses. But Papyrus flinched away from his hand. “I-I- I,” he stuttered, then shook his head. “ARE YOU FOR REAL?” he asked instead, pressing a phalange heavily into the side of his thumb. “I DON’T WANT TO WAKE UP AND FIND YOU GONE AGAIN.”

Sans’s own cheekbones were beginning to feel wet. “yeah,” he choked out. “one hundred percent the real deal.”

“actually, i think it's more like a million percent,” one of the other Sanses chimed in, voice thick. “‘cause, you know.”

“there are a lot of us,” the others chorused dryly.

Papyrus gave a hiccuping laugh. “AT LEAST FIVE, NYEH HEH.”

Sans blinked. “well. you're not wrong.”

“OF COURSE NOT!” The tall skeleton sniffled, then puffed out his chest, attempting to smile brightly. “THE- THE GREAT PAPYRUS... IS NEVER WRONG.”

“‘course not,” Sans agreed, closing his eyes and nuzzling into Papyrus’s side. “it‘s what makes you so great.”

A hand came down to rest tentatively on Sans’s skull. When the short skeleton made no move to dislodge it, the thumb came down to rub gently at his temple. “PERHAPS,” Papyrus allowed. “BUT I THINK WHAT REALLY MAKES ME GREAT IS YOU.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. <3


End file.
